


Trust Me, I've Tried

by MagpieWords



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Afterlife, Alcohol, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Coping, Gen, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Purgatory, cuz is it really unhealthy if you're already dead?, not quite sure if this counts as alcoholism or unhealthy coping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-10-05 08:37:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20485997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagpieWords/pseuds/MagpieWords
Summary: Hell wasn’t a cave in the desert. It wasn’t a wormhole in space. No, hell would have been this massive, empty house, all by himself. “We never stood a chance.”





	Trust Me, I've Tried

**Author's Note:**

> For the Tony Stark Bingo, square R5: Prison
> 
> This fic is inspired by the song "Wander. Wonder." by The Arcadian Wild. I highly recommend listening to it while you read, it sets the ambiance nicely.

She woke up to darkness. In many ways, it felt like she was still falling. No up, no down, no archer to attempt to stop her. No idea of how long she was in this place. But one moment there was nothing, and then there was something. Her eyes were fuzzy, adjusting to see shapes out of whatever had appeared around her.

A house, from the fine hardwood and the lavish light fixtures, or a mansion more likely. She didn’t move at first, wasn’t sure she could after so long without any meaning to movement. Her eyes simply darted up and down the hallway she found herself in.

She’d been here before, first as a young Widow, later as a friend. The paint on the walls was different from when she was a Widow, but everything else was estranged from her second visit. Newer, without the thick layer of dust she and Steve had coughed through.

When no one came down the hall, for however long she was sitting there, Natasha attempted to stand.

She expected pain, pins and needles from so long without moving, but her grace remained with her as she stood. Hardly a strand of hair had fallen from her braid and there was no blood to be found on her clothes. The braid was the same from when she’d fallen, but clothes were from her time as a Widow here. She’d hated this dress, too small to hide any weapons with; hated being here, a mission that didn’t require any weapons but her body.

Natasha took a deep breath. She needed to know where she was, what was real and what wasn’t in this out of time place. She had a new mission to get started on.

* * *

He woke up to light. It was still so blinding, still right there in his grasp. It was too hard to breath, even as he scrambled to sit up. He moved up too quickly and tried to fight down the dizziness. He reached for his shoulder, on instinct more than anything else, but found it no more sore than any other old bruise.

He forced the faded visions of a battlefield out of his eyes and looked at where he actually was. This wasn’t right either. Thor had explained the Reality Stone to them, but Thanos had to know what something looked like to build it right? Maybe with the Mind Stone he was able to pull from their memories. Tony scrubbed a hand down his face and pushed the ancient duvet off his lap. He really thought they had a shot this time, but now it was back to square one.

“Ain’t no rest for the wicked,” he mumbled. The battlefield echoed in his ears. Pepper, wearing the armor he made her. She was safe, Morgan was safe. It was okay now. _You can rest now._ “What?”

The noise was gone, just the quiet of this cursed house. Tony pushed himself out of his childhood bed, same as it had been the week before he left for college. What a weird time for Thanos to trap him in. Clothes were still in his closet, not yet packed away. Only a sweater he’d stolen from Jarvis could fit his broader-than-fourteen shoulders. Armed in the world’s softest fabric, he ventured out. Maybe Howard’s closet had some pants that fit him.

His bedroom door creaked as he opened it and Tony winced on instinct. No one was here, he reminded himself. The Reality Stone couldn’t bring back people from the dead. All the rationality in the world didn’t seem to stop his heart racing in his chest as he walked down the hall. The master bedroom was unlocked, which was weird, but Tony wasn’t about to complain. He really didn’t want to fight Thanos in his briefs.

Weirder still, the bedroom was different. His memory of this room was hazy, but he knew this didn’t line up with his memory. Tony flipped through a notebook on Howard’s bedside table. There were sketches in there he’d never seen before.

Something moved, deep in the house, and Tony dropped the notebook. The noise was gone as suddenly as it started, and quiet that resumed was more terrifying. Tony didn’t waste anymore time on memories that didn’t exist. He stole a pair of slacks from Howard’s closet and slid out of the room.

The lights in the house were off, but it wasn’t dark. The large window behind the staircase filtered in the dull glow of a sky just after sunset. It was enough to see by, but stretched every shadow out further.

He crept down the stairs and headed to the front door. Maybe if he got out of the house, he could get out of the vision. But the handle didn’t budge. He jiggled it again, trying to be silent, but it didn’t so much as creak when he pushed against the door. That was fine, there were other doors.

He moved through the house in his bare feet, wishing he’d grabbed a pair of shoes from Howard’s closet. The door to the garage was locked. The door to the patio was locked. Side door, locked. Windows, locked. Tony was sprinting now, running back upstairs to his room, but even the bedroom window he used to climb onto the roof and smoke wouldn’t move. He ran back downstairs, uncaring how loud he was now, and threw himself at the front door. He fell to his knees, fighting with the lock, trying anything. Nothing worked.

“Tony.”

He nearly jumped out of his skin, twisting around and falling backwards to sit against the door. Natasha was staring down at him. “Don’t bother. They’re all locked.”

“What are you…” Her hair was like he remembered, red fading into blonde in a long braid. Her dress was like a bad memory from a music video.

“I don’t know,” she answered, falling gracefully to sit across from him.

“But you…”

“Died? Yeah, I thought so too.” She smirked and, for the first time since he woke up in this ancient house, Tony felt at peace. She took his hands in her own. “What happened while I was gone?”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Never take a holiday, do you Romanoff?”

“You’re one to talk.”

They shared a smile for a moment, almost like they were just catching up after a long day with a bottle of vodka, like they used to.

“What?” Tash saw his face contort with an idea.

“I know where Howard hid the good booze.”

They pulled each other to their feet and wandered through the house. Natasha was barefoot too, Tony realized, their hands still clasped together as he led them into the parlor.

Tony pushed a painting to the side. There was an alcove behind it, every space filled with expensive looking liquor. He reached for an unlabeled bottle, tore off the seal and wrapped his mouth around the glass.

“Are we sharing or should I grab my own?”

Tony held the bottle out to her, letting go of her hand for the first time since she’d reached out. She took a drink as Tony collapsed on a couch. Natasha curled up in the space next to him, fitting against each other like they used to. Her other side was missing an archer, and Tony’s lap was missing the messy of curls of another scientist, but it was fine for now.

“Another battle,” He explained, taking the bottle for another long sip. “Completely destroyed the compound. I thought we were doing pretty well, for a while. Played catch with the most dangerous weapon in the universe and then I--“

_I am Iron Man._

“Tony?”

_You can rest now._

“Hey,” Natasha gently shook Tony’s shoulder. When he finally looked at her again, the knot of tension across her body released. “Where’d ya go, Stark?”

His eyes were still wide, no longer glazed over but still warped with fear. “Are you sure there’s no way out of here?”

Natasha squinted at him, leaning back slightly. “Pretty sure. But we can try again?”

They roamed the house together, barefoot and silent. Every door was still locked, nothing but foggy twilight beyond the windows. They passed the slowly emptying bottle between them, before Tony surrendered at the front door.

“Fuck.”

“Yeah,” Natasha agreed. She fidgeted with the hem of her dress and reached for the vodka, but there was nothing left. “We’re going to need more of this.”

“Especially if we’re going to be here as long as I think we are.”

When they got back to the still open picture frame, he gestured for her to choose their next drink. She uncorked something in a green tinted bottle.

“What’s with the dress?” Tony asked when she’d taken her fill of the mystery drink.

She shrugged again. “Woke up wearing it. It’s what I had on the first time I came here.”

Tony squined and Natasha could practically see him remembering her laughter at Captain America with a dust allergy

“Before that,” she clarified. “On a mission.”

“Oh.” Tony took a long drink. “Want to wear something else?”

She took the liquor back as they went upstairs. She watched tension creep further up Tony’s shoulders as they headed towards the master bedroom. “Hey,” she put a hand on his shoulder and he nearly jumped. “We don’t have to go in there.”

He paused and couldn’t look at her when he spoke. “Wherever they ended up, it’s not here.”

She squeezed his shoulder and let her hand drop. Tony opened the door and immediately went for the massive closets. “I was going to grab some shoes, but I think I like this hippy chic vibe we’ve got.”

Natasha giggled, covering her mouth to muffle the sound before laughing at herself for doing so. No one was here to hide from. No one was here. She couldn’t stop laughing, tears forming in her eyes and Tony was suddenly back at her side.

“Hey, hey Nat come on. I’m not that funny.”

“You are,” she tried to say, but the words were lost as her laughter broke into messy pieces. Tony wrapped his arms around her. He started shaking too. The alcohol must have finally gotten to them when they found themselves on the floor.

“Sweatpants,” she said when she could breathe again. Tony looked up at her, tears still running down his face. “I want sweatpants.”

“Okay,” he moved to stand, wobbling and making his way into the closet.

“And cake,” she added. “I want cake.”

* * *

The kitchen immediately fell into ruin. Neither of them knew how to cook. Flour was in Tony’s hair and egg was splattered on the t-shirt Natasha had found from Howard’s closet. Their third bottle of something dangling from her fingertips. She looked almost happy.

“We probably don’t need to eat here,” she said when they found themselves sitting on top of the dining room table. They picked at cake attempt #5. “I’ve been here longer than you, and I never really feel hungry.”

“You were the one who asked for cake.”

She waved him off with her fork, digging into the pan for another half burnt, half undercooked bite. Tony poured them more rum. Hers was an elegant champagne flute, his was an unused ‘Proud Parent of an Honors Student’ coffee mug. Neither were appropriate for liquor this expensive, and that’s what made them perfect.

Natasha let her fork finally fall into the pan, admitting defeat to their lack of culinary skills. She downed the contents of her slim glass and reached for the bottle, but her movement was interrupted by a yawn.

“Guess sleeping isn’t as optional as eating,” Tony mumbled, feeling exhaustion creep into him too.

“Are the guest rooms in the same spots from last time?”

“Next time,” Tony idly corrected. “And no. The room you stayed in is currently Maria’s painting studio.”

Natasha gave an acknowledging hum, but she wasn’t looking at him anymore. The dining room was extravagant, like everything else in the house. Long table, plush carpet, and two elaborate chandeliers. The highlight would have been the wall to wall windows, facing out to what Natasha remembered as a beautiful rose garden.

Outside was nothing but hazy fog.

“I want to try something.” She slid off the table, graceful no matter how drunk she knew she was.

“Okay?” Tony leaned forward, but didn’t follow her. He would fall off the table if he tried.

Without any further warning, Natasha picked up a chair and slammed it into the delicate glass of the window. The noise echoed in the massive, empty house for an impossibly long time. The chair shattered. The window didn’t.

When the silence finally returned, she head Tony suck in a shaky gasp. Natasha hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath too.

“Okay,” Natasha whispered. She didn’t look back at Tony and let herself slid down to her knees, among the splintered pieces of wood. There wasn’t even a scratch on the window. She reached a hand towards it, just to touch, but lost her balance and fell into darkness again.

* * *

The next morning, or whatever could be called morning in the eternal twilight of this place, Natasha was not hung over. She should have been. She wanted to be. Tony had moved next to her while she slept on the floor of the dining room, curling around her in a half formed attempt at comfort. She pet his hair and he woke slowly.

“Thanks,” she whispered and he grinned.

“That was pretty badass. I always hated these chairs.”

She shrugged. “Should we attempt breakfast?”

“No.”

Tony pushed himself to his feet. He stepped carefully around the splinters, leaving the dining room. Natasha didn’t get up. She wasn’t sure how long he was gone, but he came back with his hands full. First of his priorities was to hand her a Poptart.

“Do you want some?” She asked, opening the packaging.

“No.” He sat down next to her.

The smell of hot glue hit Natasha’s senses and she sat up. “Are you fixing it?”

“I want to make a better one.”

Natasha nodded, even though Tony couldn’t see. She pushed pieces of the chair towards Tony. By the time the pieces were gone, Tony only had the base of something.

“I need more materials.” He grinned at her. Natasha rose to her feet, grabbed the nearest chair, and slammed it into the window again. Her smile was all teeth, but it felt good. They spent hours like that, destroying and building.

Eventually, they ran out of chairs. The broken pieces needed sanding, but the vision they’d created was clear. A throne, like something out of a fairytale, standing proud in front of the foggy window.

“Thank you,” Natasha said again as they stood in the doorway, looking at it from afar.

Tony shrugged. “Want a drink?”

“Yeah.”

They grabbed an armful bottles from the wine collection in the kitchen and settled into the over-plush couches in the parlor. It was lighter than the liquor from the night before, but Natasha felt like it sank deeper into her blood. She rolled over, off the couch to sit below Tony’s legs. His hands found their way into her hair immediately, braiding and unbraiding it.

“So, which do you think we’re in?” She asked eventually.

“Could go upstairs and grab Maria’s bible if we wanted a reference,” Tony muttered, before sighing. “I just don’t get it.”

“Yeah. I had only just gotten used to monsters and magic. This is a bit much.”

“No not-- I mean, yeah this is weird and I’m pretty sure I owe some people some money, but why… why us? Why here?”

His hands tightened in her hair for a moment and Natasha reached up to hold them in her own. “Better here than where I spent my youth.”

She felt Tony nod, but that wasn’t enough. Natasha shifted, fighting down the irrational dread at staring across the empty parlor, and crawled back onto the couch. Her jaw unclenched the second she could see Tony’s face.

“This could have been anything else,” he whispered. Hell wasn’t a cave in the desert. It wasn’t a wormhole in space. No, hell would have been this massive, empty house, all by himself. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“None of us should.”

“Can’t exactly imagine Steve here.” He felt laughter creep into his voice, the same sound Natasha had made in the master bedroom, and he reached for a bottle of wine to drown the hysteria. “We never stood a chance.”

“We tried, though.”

“We did.” Something angry flickered inside him. “We really did! Were we ever going to be good enough?”

Natasha didn’t bother fighting off the laughter. “Fuck.” She wiped at her eyes. “How many times did we save the world? The first time wasn’t perfect, but by the fifth time it should have counted.”

“Exactly! And this last time--” He wouldn’t look away from her and the eye contact was almost too intense. “You gave everything you had. You held everyone together for years and after all that still threw yourself off that stupid cliff and--” His voice broke. They didn’t have time to mourn her, before the battle. He didn’t need to mourn her now, not really, but he still felt tears welling up in his eyes. “And you’re still here. Why are we stuck here?”

Natasha couldn’t bring herself to look away from Tony, but she couldn’t bring herself to speak either. Neither of them moved, until Tony’s thumb ran over her cheek to chase away her tears. She pulled Tony close and pressed her lips to his forehead. She closed her eyes only for a moment, but the second of darkness forced her to pull away and look at Tony again. She smiled, loose and genuine in a way he so rarely saw when they were alive. It was so easy to smile back at her.

“I’m glad I’m stuck here with you.”

**Author's Note:**

> This fic really meant a lot to me! I hope you enjoyed it and thanks for reading!
> 
> find me on [tumblr](http://magpiewords.turmblr.com)


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